I don't know what I am doing. Many things have changed since the Fall when I started this blog. My writing style, certainly. My faith, yes, I no longer define my faith by a series of dramatic spiritual realizations. But my thinking style, which is of the most relevance, is entirely the same. I am still caught in somewhat fanciful trances for the majority of days like these, days in which there is hardly anything required of me other than to live. Now to live, you could say, is far too generous a command. Many view living to be merely inhaling and exhaling, a theory which although seemingly desirable upon first consideration, is actually quite miserable when brought to action. Because, well, it requires no action. And we naturally yearn for activity. Not necessarily in the physical sense, but certainly emotionally and intellectually. It is the end of June, which has been such an odd and unstable month, and I am again beginning to feel the gentle, reoccurring push of the Holy Spirit to do something a little more than just maintain breath.
There has been a certain kind of fidgetiness with the way I have lived this month. It is the kind of fidgetiness that thrives on the inside. I described this to a good friend on the top of a hill a few days ago, but I am not sure he caught on. Although I am almost certain the same kind of inward passion consumes him quite frequently. It's almost like there is a heat in me that will not release. I greatly regret not running through the fields of Damascus, or wherever we were, and screaming, as he suggested. But I am realizing now, that even that would not have reduced this intense activity in my heart. Instead of screaming, I've been dancing- dancing down by the water. The cold creek water always acts very independent and perfectly content sitting with it's clumps of clay and sharp rock floor. Yet it is also very receptive to my crazy dancing. I put my headphones on and give myself to the water in the form of dramatic gestures, repetitive stomps, and brilliant smiles. Yet the songs always end, and I end up sitting in the sand, hugging my knees, still at great unrest. Even the greatest of moments feel miserable without the presence of the Lord. There is no assurance, there is no rest. I feel useless and fleeting. I not only notice my inability to release myself from unrest, but a calling deep within me to rest somewhere else. Somewhere completely unseen. Saint Augustine writes,
"Thou hast made us for thyself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they find their rest in thee."
If I cannot find full rest in this world, clearly I am supposed to be deriving it from elsewhere. Or maybe there is no such thing as rest. Maybe there is no God, and there is no rest. Yet clearly there must be, if we all constantly seek it through vacations, romance, sports, drugs, movies etc. Some part of us must truly believe it exists if we seek it as we do. But we cannot find him by looking at the world or ourselves, but only at who God is and who He shows Himself to be. We must have faith in Him, and experience His true rest, to be certain of its origin. Sylvia Plath, an ingenious American poet, wrote quite accurately,
"Once one has seen God, what is the remedy?"
I remember her words and understand why I am so disappointed, as I sit on the rocks down by the creek. I have already confirmed what my heart is stubbornly doubting. There is rest to be had, there is rest to be found. It lies in Him, who has called us to have faith in the unseen that we may be His in heaven, for eternity. And the result is something remarkable. Something that fits what we desire perfectly. We then not only have the thrill of biking across a field under the moon, but biking under the moon rejoicing and abiding in the knowledge that we are eternal. That we are forever. That because of our faith in the unseen, we will be upheld and glorified in the name of the Lord, and for much longer than one afternoon under the sun in our backyard creek. We will be praised and blessed by him, in his presence, far beyond the cessation of time.
Now I am dancing for a different reason.